The Great St Germain

My boy/girl love and romance side
Books

Free Stories

Works In Progress

Graphic Novels

Magazine

The Beleaguered Lives of Shayne and Mychael

Personal Stuff

The Family Christmas Ornaments

My Artwork

Bethany

"Mama, I really saw him. He was there."

"You're a liar, Bethany. There's nobody there. You woke me for nothing."

"No, mama, no. He was there. He's going to kill me."

"If you don't stop this nonsense, I'll beat it out of you!"

The accusing voices and her own pleading cries coalesced with the swirling kaleidoscope of images of her mother's angry face until she could take it no longer. Bolting up in bed, tears streamed down her face as she struggled to fully awaken from the nightmare.

A soft, soothing darkness seemed to descend over her, quieting the effects of the nightmare.

"Not your fault, Bethany. She didn't understand, but I do."

The quiet whisper of the voice reached into her mind as her body laid back down on the bed. It was the only thing that relaxed her after the nightmare. Just as it had so many times before.

"You're closer to me tonight." She whispered to the darkness, knowing he would hear her.

"I will find you. I promise, Bethany, and I never break my promises."

Bethany had heard his voice in her mind ever since she was little. When she was four, he had spoken to her one night as she huddled in her bed, alone and crying. She had cried out to him then to come and get her. She didn't know where he was but she could feel the gentle promise in his voice. In the years following, he was her only sanity against the things she saw. Bethany always knew things before they happened. She could see them and she could see the images of the past and the future dance with the present.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the shadow form of a man, moving slowly across her bedroom floor. He wasn't real and she knew that. He was someone from the future. Her future. The sight of him frightened him as he silently prowled closer to her bed. Frozen in the fear, she tried to scream, to stop the inevitable. The sensation of a hand smothered the sound before it could escape. This was the first time she had felt that touch. Every night since she was four, she had seen the image of the man who would kill her. Over the years, he had come closer and closer to her bed, but she had never felt his touch until now.

"Stephan, oh god, help me! Stephan!" She silently screamed in her mind to her savior, praying he would find her before her killer did.

"Bethany, you're all right. You're safe. He won't get to you before I do."

Time was running out and she knew it. The man who would kill her was closer to her than the man who would love her. Nothing she could do would stop the future from joining with the present when the time came. Curling on her side, she drew the covers up to her shoulders. Behind her closed eyelids, the image of her Stephan comforted her as he smiled at her. She longed to reach out and touch the smooth line of his jaw. A hint of the stubbornness that lay beneath the surface shone from the dark green eyes.

Bethany loved the way the corners of his eyes upturned with his smile. They seemed to be able to see straight through to her soul. The connection between them had been forged in tears and fear, and was now far stronger than it had been when she was young. He loved her and she knew that. Accepted it for her own as naturally as breathing came to her. His presence wrapped securely around her, lulling her away from the stress of her nightmares.

"I need you, Stephan." She whispered softly in her mind. "Please come to me."

He answered her quickly. "I know you are near. Somewhere close to me. I will find you, Bethany. I will find you."

The reassuring sound of his words relaxed Bethany enough to fall back asleep.

The Great Carmichael

My boy/boy love and romance side
Free Stories

Print Books

eBooks

Works In Progress

Graphic Novels

Magazine

The Great Co-Author

Myc's Website

Myc's Blog

The Great Wolfe

Art Work of Yanesh Wolfe

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's deranged imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All this stuff is mine, mine, mine. You touchy, I hurty. 2017 and all that jazz.